A Winter Message
A flake of snow in flurry thro’ the air
Had landed as a kiss upon my cheek:
A secret message, just for me to share;
To take to heart but never dare to speak
About or presuppose to other eyes
Your open feelings – distant though they are.
And so, upon your lips, my OWN surprise:
A flake of snow returned from me afar.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
As Winter raged
And Winter was at war.
Crumble grey-white flakes upon the scene.
The air, dead;
Dead too, the sound –
Blunted by the whitewash.
Motion, dead –
Bluing chill saw to that.
Everything ground to a halt –
Like an empty train, crawling, seizing;
Eventually to die sprawled along a ghosted platform –
A lifeless plain of concrete.
I still had far to go –
Or so this brain computed
– Tried to –
Inside my own raging storm of white noise,
Howling in its desperation.
Now wild, blitz-wild,
I bore an irrepressible thought –
A goal, focus, idée fixe:
To clasp a frosted hand around
A radiant mug of sugar-laden
Full-fat milk chocolate –
Steam wraiths writhing over
A freshly-spooned whirlpool,
Sultry in their invitation:
‘Come, sip, sip some more;
Soothe yourself in balmy richness.’
I still had far to go…
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Santa Fe In Winter by Deborah Ager
The city is closing for the night.
Stores draw their blinds one by one,
and it's dark again, save for the dim
infrequent streetlight bending at the neck
like a weighted stem. Years have built
the city in layers: balustrades filled in
with brick, adobe reinforced with steel,
and the rounded arches smoothed
with white cement. Neighborhoods
have changed the burro trails
to streets, bare at night—
no pedestrians, no cars, no dogs.
With daylight, the houses turned galleries
and stores turned restaurants open—
the Navajos wrapped in wool
crowd the Palace of the Governors plaza
to sell their handmade blankets,
silver rings, and necklaces
to travelers who will buy jewelry
as they buy everything—
another charming history for themselves.
by: Edith Willis Linn Forbes (1865-1945)
Folding the earth in its mantle
Pure and undefiled,
Soft in its own clear whiteness
As the cheek of an innocent child,
The snow o'er the world is falling,
It floats upon the air,
Silent, yet ever restless,
As a child's hands crossed in prayer.
Like a benediction descending
O'er the sin-stained weary world,
It falls in tender pity,
Its mantle o'er all unfurled.
Oh, Father in Heaven above us,
Thy goodness and Thy love
Descend like a silent spirit,
Like a pure and spotless dove.
This world is a mystery of sorrow,
And dark with sin and woe;
Over its toil and sadness
Thy mantle of mercy throw.
Fold us about, protect us
In Thy garment, spotless white,
As the snow in its silent falling
Is shrouding the earth tonight.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost (1923)
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep.
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
It is cold. The bitter of the winter whines a story. It is the colder weather...
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